


the shape your faces make

by likecharity



Category: Disney RPF, Jonas Brothers, Kings of Leon
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Fight Sex, M/M, Public Sex, Sibling Incest, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-02
Updated: 2009-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 01:45:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likecharity/pseuds/likecharity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He wants to understand where everything went wrong for them, because some part of him is scared to death it's going to be the same for him and his brothers too.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	the shape your faces make

**Author's Note:**

> Set last September when the Jonas Brothers and Kings of Leon were staying in the same hotel in London. Title from 'Relief' by Cold War Kids. Also, THIS GOT LONG.

At first he thinks he hears Garbo wrong, because it sounds a lot like he says, "Hey, you guys, the Kings of Leon are down at the bar."

And so Joe looks at him blankly and says, "What?"

Garbo repeats himself, and it turns out that _is_ exactly what he said after all. "I guess they're promoting their new album here," he adds with a shrug.

"What—why—are you sure?" Kevin stammers. He turns to their Dad, eyes wide. "Dad, can we—can we go say hi? We'll be like ten minutes, I _promise._ "

They're standing in the middle of the hotel corridor, and Garbo trotting up to them to give them this news has stopped them just as they were about to split off and turn in for the night. Dad was just going through tomorrow's schedule with them, and he looks a little mad about being interrupted, but then he nods, hesitantly.

"All right. Ten minutes," he says gruffly. Joe knows he doesn't really approve of them listening to Kings of Leon, but he seems to understand they can't turn down this opportunity. The fact that they're in the exact same city, same _hotel_ , as their current musical inspiration, is pretty incredible.

Even so, as they head off down the corridor, Nick grinning so wide it looks like his face is going to break, Joe already has a bad feeling about this.

***

All of the band see them approaching apart from Caleb, the lead singer, who has his back to them. The bad feeling in the pit of Joe's stomach only intensifies when he sees the way the band starts grinning into their drinks. Kevin's oblivious or else he just doesn't care, because he strides right up and taps Caleb on the shoulder, taking the lead. 

"Hi, uh," he says, "we're the Jonas Brothers, we're sorry to disturb you, but we—" Kevin scratches the back of his neck anxiously, and Joe sees the way that Matthew sort of shakes his head, chuckling to himself.

"We just wondered if it'd be all right to come say hi," Nick jumps in as Kevin's floundering. "We've been...really inspired by your music, lately."

Caleb takes a long pull at whatever it is he's drinking, and then, without turning around, drawls, "Great. Call me when we inspire you to put out somethin' other than shitty Disney pop."

Kevin draws back, visibly stunned, and Joe sees the way Nick's jaw goes tense and his expression turns hard and angry. Joe himself isn't all that surprised. He was excited about meeting these guys too, but he also thinks maybe he _knows_ more about them than his brothers do. He'd been the one to look them up on the internet when they'd first started listening to their music, and Kevin and Nick were curious about the early stuff—the fact that Kings of Leon are all related, too, and that they grew up in a pretty similar way to them—but after that they'd sort of lost interest. Joe had been the only one to read interviews about alcoholism and drug addiction and fights that ended with dislocated shoulders. He'd been the only one to lose touch with those initial similarities.

He'd maybe assumed that things would have changed by now, that Kings of Leon might have cleaned up their act a little or something, but overall, he wasn't exactly expecting a friendly greeting. Still, he's hurt by the comment, whether Caleb's too drunk to mean it or not, and he knows Nick isn't going to let it go.

"Excuse me," Nick says, as if on cue, recovering quicker than Kevin, who's still reeling, speechless. His voice sounds low, serious. "Sir." 

That's Nick's tactic, Joe knows, to kill someone with politeness when they've been nothing but rude, to make it clear he's a better person than they are by not stooping to their level. But it has no real effect on Caleb, who still hasn't even turned to look at them. Joe glances round at the rest of the band, sees them all just watching. Jared catches his eye and purses his lips at Joe like he's blowing kisses, raising his eyebrows, taunting.

"Have you listened to our music?" Nick says quietly, calmly, and Joe's impressed at how he doesn't make it sound overly challenging, just curious.

Caleb sort of snorts with laughter and rubs at his eyes with the heel of his right hand, still firmly clutching his drink with his left one. "Do we look like we've listened to your music, kid?"

He's slurring his words and he still hasn't so much as glanced behind him to actually _look_ at who he's speaking to. Joe watches Nick carefully, watches the way the whole language of his body seems to change, going stiff and tall and he just suddenly seems _older_ somehow. It catches Joe a little off guard and all he can do is watch.

"I think," Nick says slowly, seriously, "that you shouldn't judge, if you haven't listened to our music."

"I hate to break it to you," says Nathan, coughing as he reaches forward for his own drink from the table in front of him, "but we don't need to listen to your music to know it's shitty Disney pop, man."

Joe sees Nick's fists ball at his sides and he sort of wishes Dad had come down with them, or that there was at least _someone_ here to keep control. It's rare for them to be in a situation that doesn't have some sense of order. There's a guy that Joe thinks might be the band's manager sitting next to Jared but he seems just as drunk and amused as they do.

"C'mon guys," says Jared, clearing his throat, "let's all chill out." His eyes flicker up to Joe again and he reaches across the table, pushes forward a glass. "Have a drink with us."

"Oh, we uh, don't drink," says Kevin, still polite but stammering, and Joe sort of wants to hit him just then, because isn't it obvious that Jared fucking _knows_ that?

And the band all laugh, of course, Caleb the hardest.

Nick opens his mouth again and Joe exchanges a nervous glance with Kevin. But then Nick just sighs, quietly, nodding.

"Thank you for your time," he says through clenched teeth, and turns, walking straight back across the room without waiting to see if Joe and Kevin follow.

***

Nick beats them to the elevator and Joe practically has to run to slip between the doors before they shut. They've left Kevin behind and despite the situation Joe can't help but find that funny, as Nick jabs their floor number in and the elevator starts to rise. But Nick's not laughing. He leans back against the mirrored wall, arms folded. 

"Hey, come on, are you okay?" Joe asks, quickly sensing it's time to drop the grin on his face.

Nick just sighs, loudly and pointedly, and swings his head round so he's looking in the other direction. Joe tilts his head too, dipping to peer at his brother, trying to get him to look at him.

"Hey, okay, they're assholes, it's not a big deal," he says. 

The elevator grinds and buzzes quietly, and the lighting's so bright and harsh that Nick can't disguise the look on his face at all, the crestfallen expression that makes Joe's heart twinge a little.

"They were probably just really drunk," Joe attempts, "I mean, apparently they're like a whole extra level of douchebag when they've been drinking, so—"

"Apparently?"

"Yeah, I mean, I've read a couple of articles and stuff," Joe explains. "It's—"

"Oh, right, so...you _knew_ they were going to be rude to us, and you didn't say anything?" Nick interrupts. His tone's hard and sharp and Joe's not used to having that directed at _him._

"No, I didn't—Nicky, come on. I didn't _know_ anything, except that they're just...not very nice guys."

"Well, I didn't know that," Nick says simply, crossing his arms tighter and looking away again, like he's saying _this conversation's over_.

The elevator reaches their floor and the doors slide open. Nick gets out first, setting off at a fast pace down the hall, and Joe watches him for a second before following, having to make an effort to catch up.

"It doesn't change their music, though, you know," he says, a little desperate to just calm Nick down a bit, make him feel better, even if everything he says is getting more-or-less ignored. "I mean, so they're dicks, it doesn't mean we can't still enjoy their music."

Nick lets out a sort of huff of breath as he jams their room key in. "It kind of _does_ , Joe," he says, like Joe's stupid or something for not getting this. It makes Joe prickle a bit, even though he knows he shouldn't let Nick's attitude get to him, knows he's just upset. He follows Nick into their room. "I just thought they'd...have a bit more respect, is all."

"Yeah, well, not everyone has as much respect as you do, Nicholas," Joe says, and it doesn't really come out how he means it to, or else he doesn't think it through enough or something, because it sounds really _biting_ somehow.

Nick toes off his shoes and yanks his tie undone. He unbuttons his shirt and shoves stuff into his bag crossly. He's not saying anything but everything about his movements tells Joe he's pissed, _really_ pissed. And god, that just—that feels _really_ awful, because it's bad enough that Nick's upset but now it's like he's upset with _Joe_ , and Joe feels like it's all going to escalate unless he does something to fix it.

"Listen, I just don't get why it's such a big deal," he says tentatively. "Come on, just talk to me about it if you're mad."

"I'm not _mad_ , Joe," says Nick, but he's speaking through gritted teeth again and Joe can practically feel the anger radiating off his body, aggravation and frustration coming off him in waves.

"Well, whatever, something's up," says Joe, crossing the distance between them as Nick is still undressing irritably, tugging at the zipper of his pants. "Talk to me about it."

Nick heaves another sigh, and Joe feels _so_ bad, like everything he does or says is just making this worse for him, and he reaches out to pull Nick into a hug because that seems to be the only safe option. Nick is all tense, Joe can feel the taut muscles under the warm soft skin against his hands, and he rubs Nick's bare back soothingly until he seems to relent, relaxing a little in Joe's arms. 

"I can't," he mumbles. And then he pauses, contradicts himself. "I just...really kinda looked up to them, you know?" he says into Joe's shoulder. "They grew up like we did and they're so successful on their _own_ now, and—"

"And they're assholes," Joe finishes for him. "It's okay, you can say it."

Nick laughs a little bit and Joe relaxes too, then. He and Nick rarely get like this and truthfully, it was scaring him.

"That's just how they are," Joe says, "and I mean, you shouldn't look up to them because...they might be doing well and stuff but the shit they've gone through to get there is just—" he stops, feeling Nick tense up again under his hands. Instinctively he smoothes his palm over the skin again as he talks. "You know the bass player, Jared? He was taking cocaine when he was like, your age, or something crazy."

He's really only trying to help, honestly, to get Nick to see why this one meeting and a few sarcastic comments _don't matter_ , but it seems to do the opposite and Nick squirms out of Joe's hold.

"And you just knew all this?" he snaps.

"Yeah, I read some stuff," says Joe, bewildered.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Joe doesn't really know, actually, maybe it was just that it didn't seem that important. Because it _isn't_. Knowing this stuff really doesn't change how he feels about Kings of Leon, it doesn't mean that every time he listens to their songs he thinks of the people behind it and can't separate the two. And he doesn't see why it would matter, anyway—tons of rock stars have drug problems, alcohol problems, it doesn't make them bad people. Even if they _are_ bad people, he still doesn't see why that would ruin the music. It still sounds the same.

And okay, maybe a little bit of him knew that Nick wouldn't think that way, and he wanted to protect him from it, but—he still doesn't get why Nick is _this_ worked up over it.

"Whatever," says Nick, turning his back on Joe when Joe doesn't respond. He yanks off his pants, bundling them into a tight ball and chucking them at his bag, and then heads for the bathroom. Just before he shuts the door tight behind him, he says, "I can't listen to their music anymore," and he sounds so heartbroken that Joe goes right after him, hands flat against the door.

"Nick, c'mon," he says, hearing the lock slide into place. "Let me in."

They talk, always. They talk when there's something bothering one of them, or both of them, and they talk even when there _isn't_. Even when it's seemed like there was absolutely nothing left to talk about, they've spent nights in their hotel room talking about what it'd be like to populate Mars or how different things would be if people had feet for hands. They don't shut each other out like this, ever.

"I just want a while to think," Nick calls back, and his voice sounds thin and small.

Joe has to respect that (even though it seems different, new, _wrong_ ) because it's what Nick needs. And so he gets ready for bed without another word and when Nick comes out of the bathroom and Joe takes his place, they just exchange a slight smile. 

"Talk to me when you're ready, okay," Joe says once they're in bed and he's just about to switch off the light.

"Yeah," says Nick slowly.

He sounds so sad that Joe almost can't handle it, but he flicks the light switch anyway, knows Nick needs time.

***

Nick gets out of the car to go to the bathroom when they stop to pick up breakfast on the way to their GMTV appearance, and Kevin immediately leans over to Joe, a concerned look on his face. 

"Dude, what's going on? Did you and Nick have a fight or something?"

"What? No." 

It's true, they aren't fighting, but it _feels_ like it, feels closer to a fight than anything Joe's experienced with Nick before. He feels like somehow he's the cause of this, or at least that he's making it worse, even when he's taking a step back and not doing anything. 

"He's just stressed out, that's all," he says, but Kevin doesn't seem to want to let it go.

"Is it because of last night? Because, I'm disappointed that they brushed us off too, so if he wants to talk about it—"

"It's a bit more complicated that that, Kevin," Joe says dismissively, his voice a little too snappy and loud.

***

Nick is shifty and quiet through the interview until a question's directed specifically at him, and he's asked to describe _Camp Rock_ after they've played a clip of it. 

"Camp Rock, um," Nick says, his voice a little bit rough, and Joe turns to look at him, "I think Camp Rock is about finding who you are."

He starts talking about the clip and Joe sort of zones out for a brief moment, so used to hearing Nick describing whatever they're promoting and so relieved that at least Nick can still stay on top of things when he needs to. But then he hears his name, and—

"Joe, he plays a character called Shane and we're in a band together called Connect 3, and, um," Nick seems to be talking far too fast, "really, we send him back to this camp to find out who he is, because he's kind of let the rock star thing go to his head."

He keeps talking but that last sentence rings in Joe's ears, _the rock star thing_ , and he thinks of Kings of Leon and he knows Nick is thinking of them too.

"I get the feeling," says the interviewer, warm and smiley with her clipped English accent, "that because of your family values—I know your dad's with you, over here, and your mum sometimes comes on tour, doesn't she—I get the feeling you won't let the whole rock star thing go to your heads?"

Joe watches Nick closely as he answers; he seems fidgety, much more nervous than usual. "We're trying our best every day, you know," he says, and his voice sounds so open and honest in that moment, but tinged with sadness somehow, "trying to make our Mom proud, and we've grown up with this motto—" Nick quotes the 'live like you're at the bottom' saying and Joe feels like he's heard it a million times, "—which means stay humble, and keep the right attitude."

There's a beat of silence and then the interviewer changes the subject to Frankie and Joe relaxes upon hearing the words 'Bonus Jonas', something lighter, easier to talk about. He jumps in, but Nick is still tense beside him, fingers tapping against his leg.

He feels like he's watching him all day, throught their performance of _Burnin' Up_ after the interview when Nick just doesn't seem all _there_ somehow and refuses to catch Joe's eye. And then they're hurrying back to the hotel to grab some quick lunch and change their clothes before they're off to the Disney store for more press.

And usually this would be a time when Nick would be talking, asking Joe how he thought the day was going so far, worrying about how the performance or a particular interview question went. Nick makes the most of whatever chances they have to talk when it's a busy day like this, even if he's having to do it through a mouthful of sandwich whilst changing his pants.

But today he's not saying anything, just undressing and re-dressing almost mechanically and then sitting cross-legged on his bed and unwrapping his sandwich. Joe stands across from him, buttoning up his shirt and watching his brother.

"Nicky," he says softly, "talk to me."

Nick picks at his sandwich, still not looking Joe in the eye. "There's nothing to talk about, Joe," he says steadily.

***

They're back again later, changing yet again for the _Camp Rock_ premiere tonight. They're in even more of a hurry this time and Joe finds himself babbling inanely about random crap just to fill the silences that come between the quiet sounds of fabric and fastenings. 

And then he's repeating something Demi told him about the dress she's going to wear tonight and Nick just sort of snaps.

"Don't you ever think about our future?" he bursts out.

"Wha—of course I do, we talk about that a lot," Joe stammers, bewildered, taking a step back. 

Nick sighs and puts a hand to his forehead like Joe doesn't get it, and again Joe feels completely hopeless and useless and lost, because if he and Nick aren't understanding each other that's _scary_ —that never happens and it means something's really not right.

"I mean, our past, and _their_ past, and how they are now—" Nick says nonsensically, shaking his head like the words aren't coming out the right way. 

"I don't—I don't know what you mean," Joe says in a small voice, and it feels like he's cutting into himself by saying it. He always knows what Nick means, always, even when he's not making much sense.

"No," says Nick, and his voice is all high and tight, eyebrows arched and a little crinkle in his forehead. "No, you don't."

Kevin comes in, then, telling them it's time to go, and Joe feels like the biggest failure in the world, like all those times he's understood Nick and helped him out mean _nothing_ now. He feels like this goes far beyond a band Nick likes being rude to him, but he can't work out how. He doesn't understand what their future has to do with anything, doesn't understand what Nick _means_.

Everything's too busy from then onwards, and none of them have the time to say much to each other at all. It's all quick flashes and screaming fans, Demi in her sparkly dress asking them what's wrong and not being given the chance to get an answer.

Nick's all silence and forced smiles in front of the cameras, and he answers interview questions like a robot. When they're asked what it's like working with their brothers all the time by one reporter, he says they know how to give each other space. Kevin echoes him but says they rarely have their differences anyway, and Nick looks down, scuffing the toes of his shoes against the floor.

Joe realises this really is the closest thing to a fight they've ever had. He tries to smile, stupidly, at the thousands of people all around him, but everything's empty and useless when Nick feels the way he does.

***

"Talk to me," he says simply when they're back in their hotel room once again, and Nick just shakes his head. 

Joe's never seen him look so tired, sore, lonely. Disappointed, disillusioned. He knows that this goes deeper than what happened the other night, but that's as far as he can get, and he needs Nick's help to be able to understand this, sort things out.

But Nick's not helping, just giving up, and it makes Joe want to give up too.

"Fine," he says, a little too sharply, burrowing down under the covers of his bed. He stares at Nick through the dark, and even though he knows he's being immature he can't help himself. "Whatever, dude. Figure this out on your own."

Nick looks back at him, and Joe traces the dim shape of his face, the way he blinks and sets his jaw before rolling over to face the wall.

"It's not my problem," Joe mumbles moodily, "not if you won't share it."

But Nick says nothing.

He goes through about fifty different things he could say, things to let Nick know he's sorry and he didn't mean that and he's there for him no matter what, but he doesn't actually go ahead with any of them. He worries for a stupid amount of time, letting the _what if_ s run riot in his mind, until he realises it's way past midnight and they have to get up really early tomorrow morning.

He's left his iPod in Kevin's room, he realises then. It's been there ever since they arrived in London because he was playing Kevin a song and he hasn't even had a chance to listen to it since. And right now—well, he could really use it, a little bit of music to help his nerves settle, to get him to drift off to sleep. He slides out of bed carefully, rummaging quietly in his suitcase for a t-shirt to pull on. He grabs the room key and checks back over his shoulder to see if Nick's still sleeping, and he is, his brow furrowed slightly in sleep, his body curled up under a thick layer of sheets.

The second he shuts the door behind him, he hears it. It's noise that's difficult to identify, but it sure as hell makes him freeze, his fingers still on the door behind him. At first it just sounds like _scuffling_ , harsh murmurs and the heavy sound of breath. His heart sort of leaps into his throat and the first thought that he can manage is that someone's having _sex_ in the corridor, just around the corner from him.

He knows he should just turn away from it, slip next door to Kevin's room and back again, but, well—he's curious. How is he supposed to ignore something like that when it _really_ sounds like—

There's a sudden thud and then the sound of someone sucking in air through their teeth. A thumping, a gasp and a painful sounding _crack_ and then, a voice, heaving out a word, " _Fuckin'—_ "

Joe jolts. His throat feels dry, suddenly, and everything seems to stop, dead silent, for just a moment. A chill runs down his spine.

"I'm not fuckin' doin' this shit with you anymore, get the _fuck_ off of me, man," a voice spits out, and then there's another thud, scuffle, loud panting.

The voice might not be singing, croakily crooning lyrics Joe knows so well, but he recognises it anyway, instantly.

"Christ, you're so drunk," the voice says then, slurring, the words sloppy in their drawling Southern accent.

For a moment there's nothing but heavy breathing and Joe waits, blood pounding a mile a minute in his ears, his hand still frozen against the door. Ever so quietly, he takes a step closer, thankful his feet are bare against the soft carpeting so he barely makes any noise at all. He takes a deep breath, and peers around the corner.

It's Nathan who's got Caleb pinned to the wall, and all they're doing is staring at each other, faces only inches apart. They look worse than they did before, drunk and dishevelled, Caleb's tie undone and draped unevenly around his neck. They look sweaty and flushed; Nathan's long hair matted and tangled, his glasses are crooked.

Joe can see Caleb's lips move, but he can't make out what words are murmured. He's got a sort of smirk on his face and Nathan's whole body tenses up immediately, Joe can see the muscles tightening in his arms and he feels genuinely _scared_ of what's going to come next. Nathan looks like he's going to punch his brother in the face, looks like he's going to _kill_ him, and Joe's never seen anyone look like that before in his life, so _angry_ , murderous. And Caleb's just leaning back against the wall, mouth open, the sound of his breathing still heavy and wet as he watches, waits.

Joe wonders if maybe he should _get_ someone, like, call security or something, because it really looks like someone's going to end up seriously injured pretty soon and he can't just _stand_ here, not doing anything.

There's a sudden struggle and Joe's breath catches in his throat. Nathan's got a strong hold on Caleb's wrists, pinning them to the wall, but then he lets go and grabs a fistful of his brother's shirt instead, yanking at it, pulling Caleb forwards and his face looks—well, Joe doesn't even _know_ how his face looks, just, tortured, all screwed up and filled with anger and hate and something Joe just can't recognise, doesn't _want_ to recognise.

A sudden push of his hips forwards and Nathan's pressing Caleb into the wall again and his head plunges in so fast that Joe thinks he's going to _knock him out_ , but then—no, _fuck_ , they're kissing, they're actually kissing. Well, if it can even be _called_ kissing when it's as angry and frantic as everything else, the two of them clutching at each other like that, and the sudden sound of tearing as Nathan rips at Caleb's shirt. Their faces are mostly obscured by hair but then Joe sees it, the way they nip and bite at each other's mouths, and the _sound_ of it, wet and open and desperate.

Joe wants to look away, knows he _needs_ to look away, but he can't, not when Caleb makes this low, growling sound in his throat and his hands force themselves between his brother's body and his own, down at their hips, and Joe can see his mouth wet with spit and blood, glistening under the low light. He feels sick, suddenly, so sick, like a wave of nausea rolls through his whole body. He can hear zippers being pulled at and he can taste bile in his throat. His body's throbbing and he feels light-headed and he just _can't_ turn back.

His brain's working away a mile a minute and he can't focus on any one thought because everything's happening so fast, like he's being thrust down some dark tunnel even though it feels like his feet are rooted to the spot. He just watches. He doesn't even think about them seeing him because they're so wrapped up in each other, like they're in their own closed-off little box instead of the middle of a hotel corridor. There are hands everywhere, and another sharp bite to Caleb's lower lip that looks like it _really_ hurts, and then a long low groan from Caleb and muttering, harsh furious muttering from Nathan that Joe can't pick words out from.

Their hips twist together, pressed up against each other, and then Nathan shoves his thigh between Caleb's legs and Caleb clamps down around it and Joe hears a flurry of words he just never hears, not even in Kings of Leon's songs, all _slut_ and _cock_ and _fuckin' beggin' for it, you're always fuckin' beggin' for it_ , and his whole body feels like it's burning somehow at every outburst. Caleb snaps back with a sentence Joe's Mom would _die_ if she knew he'd heard, something that even stuns Joe for a good half a second or so.

And then— _shit, shit, shit_ , Nathan's turning Caleb round, shoving him hard against the wall with a sickening noise that makes Joe wince, and he sees Caleb's hand flying to his nose and another fresh dribble of blood, and Nathan's just fumbling with his pants and only glancing up for enough time to see that Caleb's not actually _dying_ or anything. Joe wonders how they can be so careless with each other, flinging each other around like that without a second thought. Caleb just wipes his face with the back of his hand, smearing red across the skin, and then shoves himself back against Nathan, shucking his own tight pants down mid-thigh and then Nathan's pressing in so close that Joe can hardly see anything at all.

Suddenly there's a low electric buzz and Joe spins round, back around the corner, his heart feeling like it's going to burst right out of his chest. It's just the strip lighting on the ceiling above him, flickering for a moment longer and then going out completely, and Joe tries as hard as he can to control his frenzied breathing. He's suddenly brought back to reality, here in this _hotel corridor_ , public, and he can't even—he knows he's got to go back into his room, forget the iPod, just get the fuck out of there and hope that when he wakes up tomorrow morning this'll all have been a bad dream.

He's shrouded in darkness now, and his back feels hot and sweaty against the cold wall behind him. He can see the dim light out of the corner of his eye and he can't hear anything, and he wonders if maybe they've stopped, gone into a room, realising where they _are_ after the noise interrupting them. But then he hears—well, it just, it sounds like someone spitting into their hand and then this fast, slick _skin_ sound, and Joe knows what that is, knows what's going to happen, because he knows how this sort of thing works and that knowledge just sits there in the pit of his stomach, morbid fascination eating him up inside.

It's the groan that makes him look again. It sounds like nothing Joe's ever heard. It's just so low and raw and desperate and _pained_ , angry still, almost animalistic, and then it's like he can't _not_ look. Sometimes Joe just does things because he knows he shouldn't, and maybe this is one of those things, even though he's not getting any sort of kick out of it and it's making him want to throw up more than anything. But he just can't believe it, can't understand it, and something in him is making it feel like he _needs_ to. He can't leave this alone, this thing that makes no sense to him at all. It's not like much of _anything_ about the lives Kings of Leon lead makes much sense to him, but with this, he wants it to. He wants to understand where everything went wrong for them, because some part of him is scared to death it's going to be the same for him and his brothers too. He'll do everything in his power to avoid that, but he needs to _understand_ it first. 

Nathan and Caleb are just a hunched tangle of bodies against the wall, Nathan's big strong hands wrapped around Caleb's hips and his fingernails digging in, and Caleb pushing right back into him, the two of them thrusting and bucking together. Nathan's face is hidden by the dark curtain of his hair, Caleb's all screwed up in some kind of intense, furied concentration, one hand braced against the wall in front of him, almost losing his hold every time Nathan shoves forward forcefully. His other hand's working frantically between his legs and Joe wonders how either of them can be turned on by something so brutal, how either of them can think about getting off when they're sore and bloody and _broken_ like this.

There's this one repeating thought that won't stop gnawing at him and it's turning his insides over, and he just can't stop thinking—hoping?—that he's not really seeing what he thinks he's seeing, that these aren't the people he thinks they are, the _brothers_ he thinks they are. But once again he remembers reading about the band and he knows there's no way he could have misread anything. Still though, he wonders wildly if it was all made up by some kind of management, for press, for attention. Because Joe knows brothers, _has_ brothers, and Nathan and Caleb aren't anything like what brothers are supposed to be. Brothers don't _fight_ like that, and brothers don't _fuck_. That's the basis of everything Joe knows, his brothers are the biggest part of him, and to see this in front of him, to see people he thought he could _identify_ with (in whatever complicated, confusing way) screwing up Joe's whole definition of family like this—

He can't watch, anymore. He just feels _ill_ and like something's exploding in his brain and it _hurts_ , as if they hadn't messed things up enough. Joe wishes, wishes so hard that he hadn't come out here, that he'd just stayed in bed and tried to get to sleep. He slumps back against the wall. He can't forget it now, won't ever. He can still hear the low grunts and groans and the way Caleb's _swearing_ at his brother like that and Nathan's insulting him right back, grumbling things in Caleb's ear that Joe could just _never_ say, especially not to his brothers, to someone so important to him. The fact that Nathan can do this, treat his little brother like this, it just—it makes Joe sick.

His hand slips, sweaty, on the doorhandle, as he tries to get back into his room in his hurry to leave this behind.

***

At first Nick just blinks at him blearily, rolling slowly over in bed and looking up at him with tired, unfocused eyes. And Joe doesn't even know what his face looks like, but it must look pretty bad for Nick to sit up straight like he does before Joe even says anything. 

"What's wrong?"

Joe doesn't even know where to _start_ with that and he just sort of laughs, emptily, and then feels stupid, for laughing and for waking Nick up at all because what exactly is it going to achieve? What can _Nick_ do? He can't turn back time and he can't fix this, can't fix Caleb and Nathan and whatever's happened to them. 

"Joe, what, what is it, what's wrong?" Nick asks, and his hand smoothes over Joe's shoulder. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"I wish," Joe says, and he's doing that stupid hollow-laughter thing again that makes this into something it isn't, like there's actually something funny about it at all. "Just—Nick, you know, Caleb and Nathan...we're not like them, are we?"

Nick pulls back. "No, Joe, we're not like them," he says, quietly, still looking down.

"I just—we can't ever be like them, okay, we can't, like—" Joe stops, swallows. Nick looks at him and the second he does, the image of Nathan shoving Caleb up against the wall comes flooding back to Joe, that awful sound of Caleb's nose smashed against the plaster. He imagines himself in ten years' time throwing Nick around like that and he thinks he'd rather hurl himself out the window than end up with that life, that relationship. "Fuck, Nick," he says, and his voice sounds really weak and really scared. "I just—I couldn't hurt you like that, you know that, right? It's not—the way they just—"

Nick laughs quietly, a little low rumble. "Joe, you're babbling," he says, and stretches, and puts his hand on Joe's shoulder again, and this time it's Nick who doesn't _get_ it, not at all, and that kills Joe. Nick _has_ to get it, otherwise they're screwed.

"We don't fight, like, ever, man, right? And we can't, we can't fight like—like _that_." He hears that groan in his mind again, remembers the way it was ripped from Caleb's throat as Nathan drove into him, and he thinks about how little he and Nick have talked these past couple of days. His chest feels tight and sore.

"Like what?" Nick looks concerned now, and Joe realises then that he's really making very little sense. "Like—Joe, what are you talking about? Did you see them again?"

Joe wants to explain, wants Nick to understand what he saw, but at the same time the thought of really _telling_ him seems so wrong. It's like holding back the other stuff he learnt about Kings of Leon as a way to protect Nick; it's just another thing that'll hurt his little brother, and he can't—he can't _ever_ hurt his little brother.

He says nothing, hangs his head. 

"Hey, Joe," Nick murmurs, his voice a little bit hoarse from sleep as he lowers it, "it's okay."

Joe can't seem to calm his still-racing heart though, can't stop thinking of what's still going on outside, and he can't look Nick in the eye, because he _gets_ it now, understands Nick's crippling fear of the future.

"Where—where along the line do you think they fucked up?" Joe says, his voice shaky and quick. "Because it's, I get what you were saying now, and it's not just being dicks to the fans because we'll never do that, we could never do that, but there's _everything else_ , the people they _are_ , Nick, fuck—"

"Joe, _Joe_ ," Nick says, trying to calm him, but when he reaches out to pull Joe into a hug, Joe goes tense and rigid, shrugging off the touch and still talking, the words spilling out of his mouth. 

He feels like he's thinking about everything all at once, things falling into place in his brain and then detaching just as quickly. He feels like an idiot for not figuring it out before, that it took something so huge, so shocking, to make him see. For Nick the worry started with the thoughts of their _career_ , the fear of them losing respect for their fans and for their bodies and their image, giving in to drink and drugs and sex, losing their _faith_. And for Joe, it had to be shoved right in his face. The fear of losing _each other_. 

"Just say we won't be like that," he says, "we've always gotta love each other, we've _always_ gotta—" he's looking at Nick now, seeing the concern in the darkness of the brown eyes, "'cause if we end up like them, it's—"

And Nick rocks forward on his knees suddenly, clutching Joe's shoulders tightly in clenched hands and pulling him forwards. Joe only gives himself a second to register the feeling of Nick's lips pressed hard to his before he's drawing back, one hand out against Nick's flat, hot stomach and pushing him away. All he can see is bloody bitten lips and those hurting, broken brothers trying to find things in the wrong places. His hand goes to his mouth almost instinctively like he's trying to physically prevent this from happening, close himself off, place a padlock over it, but it's like Nick's lips have left an imprint and the warmth of them spreads something through him. Right away he wants it back, wants it tangled up in him, knitting things back together. 

He _wants_ this. That's the worst thing about it.

"I'm," Nick gulps, and he looks absolutely awful, stricken, pale and shocked at what he's just done. "Joe, Joe, Joe," he chants, hands going to Joe's shoulders again and then instantly dropping back off, "no, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, don't freak out, I don't know why I—I just." He makes himself stop, take a deep breath. He looks down at his own fidgeting hands when he says, slowly, "I really just...wanted to do that."

Joe's hand slides up from his mouth to his eyes, curled loosely, fingers spread, thumb pressed hard against his temple. 

"Don't hate me, Joe, please," Nick's voice comes quiet and fearful, and it makes Joe's heart ache.

No words seem to come and he just lets go of himself and wraps his arms around Nick, pulls him close as he can. The idea that Nick thinks Joe could ever _hate_ him is a hundred times worse than what he just did, and that, _that_ , is something Nick needs to know.

Joe draws back, tilts Nick's chin towards him with unsteady fingers. He can feel a quick anxious pulse against his fingertips and Nick swallows and he feels the judder of his brother's Adam's apple. He leans in, kisses him slowly, softly, smoothly. Nothing like the way Nathan kisses Caleb, and nothing like the way Joe has ever kissed _anyone_ before. Gentle, careful, and so, so slow. Figuring each other out, figuring _everything_ out.

Nick's mouth is soft, warm, his lower lip trembling. Joe's hand slides around to the back of Nick's neck, fingers pushing through messy curls, and he holds Nick firmly, kissing him a little harder, his heart pounding hysterically in his ears. He knows that what he's doing is bringing them just that much closer to Kings of Leon, just that much further down the line towards what they are, how they live. But right now it doesn't matter; all that matters is Nick's happiness, Nick's safety, Nick knowing that Joe loves him more than anything else in the world.

It feels so right. It doesn't feel like making Nick bleed, slamming him against a wall, stretching him open. It feels just like it always has, only better, closer—a way of feeling that love for Nick that Joe's always felt, only right deep down inside of him, twisting in his belly. The soft feel of Nick's sleep-loosened curls, the wet warmth of his mouth, his strong hands clutching Joe at the hips. Joe loves it all.

He realises with a jolt that it's better than anything he's ever felt before, and fear chills through him again, because he knows now that he's giving in to temptation, doing something that's _wrong_ because it feels good. He wonders if this is how it starts, and he can't let go.

"Joe, is this—" Nick says when they break apart, "we can't, Joe, I mean, it's—oh," he clenches his teeth, forehead wrinkled, "this is bad."

Again, Joe sees the fighting and the abuse and the total disregard for each other than Nathan and Caleb have, and he shakes his head lightly, forehead resting against Nick's. "It's better than some things," he says, and Nick just laughs softly because, well, he doesn't get it.

"Murder," Nick supplies, with a cautious grin.

"Is that all you can come up with?" Joe says after a moment. His voice sounds thick and close, and Nick tilts his chin a little to let their lips brush once again.

"I don't know," Nick whispers, "this is...pretty bad."

Joe nods, and then lets his mouth fall open a little bit more as he comes closer, because—because it doesn't _seem_ that bad, not after what he's just seen. His fingers curl tighter at the back of Nick's neck, and he kisses him harder this time, wanting to reassure him that this is okay, that they need this. And Nick just seems to fall open against him, letting out a long breath and holding him tighter, tongue slipping past Joe's lips.

Joe's hyper-aware of every movement Nick makes, every time he withdraws even a miniscule amount. Nick pulls back a little now and Joe's heart leaps into his throat.

"Lie down with me," Nick murmurs hoarsely, stammering slightly, and Joe feels the rough bitten edges of Nick's fingernails against his hips, his hold tightening.

They lie down clumsily, awkwardly, faces never more than mere inches apart from each other as they reposition. They pull the sheets over them even though it's too hot (and Joe thinks of how it seemed freezing only moments before) as if they need to cover themselves, disguise something. He supposes they do, after all. 

When he leans in to kiss Nick again without a second's hesitation, he wonders if this is what addiction is like. Now that he's felt Nick's lips against his own, he needs that, aches for it, greedily succumbs to the desire without thinking. He wonders if that's what it's like with alcohol, drugs, if that's what Kings of Leon went through the first time someone put a beer in their hands, offered them a line of something. It feels like this is something that's been missing from him all his life and he can't imagine going back to how it was before. He doesn't want to stop kissing Nick _ever_.

"We have to stop," Nick whispers, short of breath, against Joe's lips.

"No, no," Joe says wildly, fingers sliding along the sweaty smoothness of Nick's cheek, "no, no."

Nick's face is twisted, a little pained, but he gives in easily as Joe kisses him again, their lips smeared wet in a messy kiss, chests hot and tight against each other, hearts pounding to the same rhythm. Joe wonders if this is what it felt like for Nathan and Caleb the first time they did this, and as he holds Nick closer and licks into his mouth, he feels like maybe he can understand after all, _does_ understand.

He wonders if they're still out there, fucking against the wall, drunk and careless. The chill reaches his bones as he holds Nick tight and doesn't wonder _if_ they'll end up like that too, he wonders _when_ instead.

"I love you Joe," Nick mumbles, fast into the nook of Joe's sweat-slick shoulder.

Joe thinks of the other times they've shared beds—when they've stayed up recently, talking and watching TV until they've accidentally fallen asleep in the same one, or on their first solo tour when Nick was upset over Miley and needed comfort, or even just when they were really little and one of them had a nightmare or didn't feel well. He tries to make this feel different, new, _wrong_ , and he can't.

"I love you," he breathes, presses a kiss just beside Nick's ear. 

The skin under his hands is soft and hot and he can feel the erratic in-out of Nick's breathing against his own chest, the quick rise and fall. He tangles his legs with his brother's, feeling the coarse hair and the muscled thighs. Nick lets out a sigh low and long and Joe feels it curl his toes.

"We're gonna be okay, right?" Nick asks.

Joe doesn't think about Kings of Leon at all when he says, unsteadily, "I don't know."

He shifts, shuffles, kisses Nick's hot collarbone, and then slithers down beneath the sheets and presses his lips to Nick's chest until he can feel the frantic heartbeat slow. He knows Nick's hard—the thick stiff press of him is obvious, and he's filling too, ignoring it as best as he can. All of it, _everything_ , tells him they're not going to be okay at all, but he just breathes out as slow and steady as he can against Nick's skin, wraps his arms around him, and lets go. Loses control. Leaves things up to God.

Waits.

Falls asleep eventually, Nick's arms lazily enveloping him and his face still pressed against the sweaty skin of Nick's chest.

***

He wakes up with sun streaming painfully in through the window, through the thin curtains, bright and relentless. He stretches, knees bumping against Nick. He dimly becomes aware of the noise that's woken them both up, his phone blasting out MGMT, lying on his bedside table too far away to reach for. He lies back, listens, lets Nick curl up back into him, nuzzling into his shoulder and whimpering in sleep. His curls tickle Joe's skin. 

The alarm dies out eventually and just as Joe reaches that middle place between waking up fully and falling back to sleep, Nick's phone goes off. _Use Somebody_ , Kings of Leon.

The force of last night's events hit him hard and he sits up straight.

His brain's too full, busy with thoughts, his head hurting from it, and he slides out of bed and starts to wash and get dressed like he's on autopilot, following the same routine he's had for so long now. It's when he's washed up and almost fully dressed that Nick seems to come to.

"Are we okay?" he croaks, face half-buried in pillows, voice raw.

Joe tosses him a shirt, hitting him square in the face. "I don't know," he says, because as much as he wants to say, _of course we are_ , he knows he needs to be honest right now.

Nick pulls the shirt from his face and smiles bravely. "Yeah," is all he says.

The sudden banging on the door makes Joe's breath catch in his throat. He runs his fingers back through his hair and goes to the door to open it.

"Niiiick," Kevin groans, standing in the doorway fully-dressed and looking right past Joe. "You gotta get up."

Nick kicks the sheets away and sits up, swings round on the bed. "Okay," he says, and Joe notices how he doesn't quite look their brother in the eye.

Kevin rolls his eyes. "If we miss our flight, I'm blaming you," he calls behind him as he heads down the corridor.

Joe shuts the door and Nick leaps into action. They get ready without another word, not having _time_ to talk, just stuffing things into their suitcases before hurrying out of the room. 

Their Dad's waiting by the elevator. "Morning," he says, a little sharply.

Joe tries to catch Nick's eye, but fails. Nick's looking straight ahead of him in a way Joe's too scared to try.

***

Coming out of the elevator, Dad and Nick behind him, Joe walks right into someone. There's a busy crowd right in front of the doors and the someone turns suddenly, causing Joe to knock shoulders with him. 

"Woah," says Jared Followill.

Joe apologises on instinct, flustered, and then hears another 'sorry' echoing his as Nick stumbles out of the elevator too and bumps into him. He turns, and looking down he sees Nick's boots and another, identical pair standing out against the pale carpet beneath them.

When he glances up to see the owner of them he finds himself looking at Caleb's face, and even though it's grinning at him, friendly and sleepy, all he sees is the same face twisted up in pain and lust, blood streaming from the nose. There's a faint darkness under Caleb's eyes and the skin around his nose still looks a little tender. 

The small crowd dissipates slightly and Nathan comes through, a bottle of water held in his fist. He hands it to Caleb, then tilts his head, brushing his knuckles ever-so-gently against his brother's slightly bruised nose. 

"You doin' okay, man?" he says, his voice low, concerned. He doesn't even seem to notice anyone else, his eyes fixed on Caleb.

"Yeah, lay off," says Caleb, shoving Nathan's hand away, but his voice is full of affection, a strange softness Joe could never have imagined coming out of his mouth. 

He's smiling, too, still, and last night disconnects in Joe's mind, separates into pieces. 

"Jonas Brothers," drawls Matthew, dragging the words out as he sidles up behind Nathan. He drapes an arm each around Joe and Nick. " _I'm burnin'_ ," he sings out awkwardly, out of tune, then stops. Joe looks at him, dumbfounded.

"Burnin' up," Jared supplies, taking a swig from his bottle of water. Exaggeratedly and teasingly, but not cruelly, he sings, " _burnin' up, burnin' up, for you baby,_ " and then grins at Joe as if their first meeting never happened at all. "That's right, right?"

"That's...right," says Joe, grinning back because he can't seem to help himself.

Jared laughs; Matthew punches him on the shoulder.

Their Dad guides them along a little anxiously, and Joe sees Kevin down at the end of the corridor, his eyes wide. Just as they turn away, Caleb stretches out his leg, almost losing his balance as he gently kicks Nick's ankle.

"Nice boots, man," he says, with a clumsy wink.

Nick won't stop smiling for the rest of the day, and slowly, Joe realises that maybe things are going to be okay after all.


End file.
